As a respected literary website, we’re always getting submissions from would-be comedians, aspiring scribes, and even railway tramps who’ve abandoned writing tall tales on the walls of boxcars with their own poo, with hopes of entering the digital age. Besides the obvious problem of forcing my scant staff of 57 interns who survive on a stipend of bread ends and unlimited candy canes to comb through thousands of submissions, the biggest issue we face is that very few are formatted properly.

In the past I’ve hesitated to make this style guide public but I recently had to turn down a promising Mark Twain spoof called “The Adventures of Tom Lawyer and Fuckleberry Hinn” because its formatting rendered it unreadable to my audience. To stop this from happening again, and from you wasting time that could be dedicated to planting bushes in funny places, I’ve copy and pasted an abridged version of the complete guide that covers the basics. If you’d like the complete version or if you’re currently working on a novel that you’d like to pitch to our Buck Fumble Books ‘n Calendars imprint, please sent a self-addressed, stamped envelope to:

345 Tree StreetToronto, ONO0O 0O1

Numbers

For numbers greater than ten, use figures, not words. If you need to know whether to use feminine or masculine terminology when describing a number, here is a cheat sheet:

To figure out the gender of numbers greater than nine containing one masculine and one feminine number, ask your parents.

If you’re planning on writing a number over 1,000,000,000 you must add an asterisk and corresponding footnote describing why you think there’s a number funnier or better.

Heights, weights, etc.

We use imperial units when talking about people, hens, gravy and anything purple (e.g. “The 12 foot woman snacked on the 40 pound hen while dabbing an ounce of iced gravy on her four inch, dark purple bruise (that she got when one of her students threw and apple at her (she’s a teacher)”).

For everything else we use the Canadian metric system, which is the same as the universal metric system except we have a unit of nothingness called a “nist”.

There is an exception for industry standards, e.g. we would never measure slop in kilograms but rather sacks.

Other

Only use exclamation points if your sentence has an explosion in it, or if you’re me. I’m the voice of the site and can yell whenever I want.

Never use the letter “b” unless you ask me for permission first! I don’t want to get into “hows? whats? whys? and whoas!” of it so let’s just say that it has something to do with what I thought was an empty promise to a woman I loved, stealthily overseen and notarized by a magistrate who held a grudge against my family because our frog farm put their toad shed out of business.

Whenever you use a word that features double letters, you must say out loud “double trouble!” You may be wondering how I’m able to enforce this rule but let’s just say the magistrate and I patched up our relationship. His legal knowledge, combined with strategically placed shrubbery in funny places, grants me the ability to move about this world unnoticed and ready to enforce the rules.

If you’re a freelance writer, please include a small tilde (˜) at the bottom right of every page, in honour of whoever this guy Lance was who apparently went to the slammer in order for writers to pitch stories to whoever they want. I’m not 100% sure that’s what “freelance” means, but the teenager who told me also taught me the code in Street Fighter that gives Dhalsim a Polo shirt and that was true.

And finally, be clear with your abbreviations! Don’t assume I know what you’re talking about. I was once about to publish what I thought was a hilarious diatribe against the hated Nut Bagel Alliance only to realize the author was actually talking about something called the National Basketball Association. I assumed the part about more “three pointers” was simply stating that nut bagel fans should abandon their favourite snack in favour of Doritos. And when they argued for more “slam dunks”, I found myself nodding at the thought of dunking a sesame bagel into a glass of almond milk, which makes way more sense than getting a bagel with almonds on it.

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Since we’re now halfway through the two thousand and nineteenth year after Jesus got nailed by the Italians, it’s time for me to do two things: Number one, put a fresh layer of cellophane around my tongue so my New Year’s Resolution of not tasting anything all year will come true, thus granting me Jolly Ranchers for life as per contest rules. And two, take stock of everything that’s happened so far in order to formulate a list of inventions I’d like to see invented by the time Santa’s Sack is used, abused, then locked away in the cedar cellar alongside the unlucky elf whom the big man has deemed “unfuckable”. Don’t get grossed out, it’s an industry term for “fatuous”.

As always, this list does away with trite inventions like flying cars, robot worms, and rubber cars. It’s a highly reactionary list to the problems faced by our current world, which is why I’ve made it a mid-year tradition. If you see something that piques your interest and your mom and dad are scientists or money tycoons, please forward this to them because my resources are tied up in maintaining a forest I bought with my own money.

Flying Boat

Climate change has done more than mutate ducks and make the wind taste like iron. Massive floods are devastating human’s favourite terrain: dry land, which has led to the cancellation of several Bog Blasts and Swamp Hops. Things have got so bad that even boats are in danger of being swallowed up by the sea only to be eventually barfed out by volcanoes around the time holding in poo stops being an issue for today’s babies. The only way to solve this besides giving boats gills, which is impossible without the intervention of paragraph one’s Jesus or Santa, is to give boats wings. A flying boat will give us unparalleled transportation during the this new Wet Age, and while we’re up there we can even trawl for gulls. I don’t know about you but I sure could go for eating a different bird this Thanksgiving.

Analog Emojis

There are two parts of “the news”: The first is the news itself. You know, stuff like “Nerd Tries Beef”. The second is the thing that gives you the news, like newspaper, TV show or internet site. If everything is going cool then it shouldn’t matter what mug you sip your news from – root beer is still root beer whether you drink it from a rut or a horn. But thanks to changing technologies and generational divides that have seen the actual adjusted age of grandmas and grandpas rise to well over 200, everyone tastes news a little differently. A very simple way to fix this is to carbonate newspapers a bit by making emojis analog, giving newspaper typers the ability to inject a bit of digital fun into their columns. I’d find it a lot easier to digest a hot slice of Dave Barry if he were able to end each of his pieces with one of these: 😝

“Milp”

This is Milp but not the milp I’m talking about

The name “Milp” isn’t written in stone, it’s more of a placeholder. I couldn’t think of a good name for this invention until I visited a Triple D favourite whose signature drink combines milk and pear, then made thick with the addition of mashed pasta. At that point in my life it was just what I needed and what does the world need right now other than an ancient whale who surfaces after millennia, hums a song for a thousand years and makes everyone cry? The elimination of plastic. Honestly, we’re not going to get rid of plastic unless something better comes along to replace it, and that something better I’ve code-named “Milp”. Milp will have to be lightweight, durable, ductile, not stink, and be able to be eaten once used. On paper this doesn’t sound very hard but keep in mind that humans haven’t invented a new substance since tape. If you’re able to pull this off you can change the name but I’d like to at least be mentioned in the Wikipedia entry.

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We recently received a typewritten, perfume-soaked letter from a real deal member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences whose New Year’s Resolution was to be more forthcoming. Rather than tell her husband that she’s been using the Instant Pot to sterilize her clarinet reeds, she decided instead to fill us in on her OFFICIAL Oscar picks for 2019. This should give you, the film-going public, an idea of who might win before you wager another eyeball betting on Best Picture based solely on which title sounds most like your last name. Here’s what she had to say:

Hi fans! If the Academy finds out I’m doing this they’ll never let me watch a movie ever again so all I ask in return is to say a prayer for me or leave a little meat out on your porch tonight and I’ll come grab. Full disclosure: I spilled BBQ sauce on my ballot. I tried to let my dog lick it off so I could see it but he ate the whole thing. Here’s what I would’ve picked had that not happened:

Best Picture

BLACK PANTHER
BLACKKKLANSMAN
BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY
THE FAVOURITEGREEN BOOK
ROMA
A STAR IS BORN
VICE

According to Green Book, the black guy and the white guy in it SHOULD NOT be friends, but they were anyway. I absolutely love movies where two guys who aren’t friends become friends beat up guys who don’t like that they’re friends, so this was like a glass of Gatorade after a fuck fest for yours truly.

Best Director

What the Academy doesn’t want you to know is that the award usually goes to the craziest person instead of the one who best manages to tell a bunch of overpaid doorknobs where to stand. The only reason Bob Fosse won in 1972 was because he coated every camera lens in piss ahead of the shoot to give Cabaret the ethereal look that made it a hit. Anyway, this movie is so boring that I can’t believe the guy actually managed to make it without everyone quitting because they were so tired. Shooting a movie in black and white tells the public, “Don’t watch this!” but people did anyway so kudos to Alfonso C. for being so extreme.

Best Actress

Sometimes an Oscar voter has to let the cosmos guide them and I am no different. In this case, Olivia Colman shares a name with my FAVOURITE mustard and is in a movie called The Favourite so it was an easy choice. Please note that if Claire Foy from First Man were nominated she would’ve got my vote because my first child was a boy, “Foy” rhymes with “boy”, “boys” turned into men, and my first son is named Claire.

Best Actor

I never knew Queen did We Will Rock You! I always thought it was the Stones!

Best Song

ALL THE STARS from Black Panther
I’LL FIGHT from RBG
THE PLACE WHERE LOST THINGS GO from Mary Poppins ReturnsSHALLOW from A Star Is Born
WHEN A COWBOY TRADES HIS SPURS FOR WINGS from The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Wow, this song reminded me of when I was a young woman and had a tryst with a real deal Moldovan Count. The guy’s bathtub was so big it had a shallow end I shit you not. I made a joke about there no being a diving board, he misinterpreted it as him not having a penis or something and next thing you know I was sharing a hammock with a loose rooster on a steamship headed back to good old U.S. of America.

Those are the only ones I usually vote on becauseI got a lemon tree in my backyard and honey I’d rather pick lemons than award winners. Plus, giving out supporting acting trophies is like giving James Beard Awards to dishwashers.

I know it’s been awhile since my last blog but I caught a nasty case of the whispers last rise and my pod didn’t produce nearly enough silk to buy a LifePak off the Chimes. Don’t worry though, I’m better now and have even found the energy to hunt dust swans again.

I’m currently typing this on the keyboard-tattooed belly of a mind tramp who will use her considerable skills to retain everything I’m writing, then bring the finished piece to the Central Spire for input. It cost me the last of my corn smut but I didn’t think I’d be able to manage to trip myself because lately my hair is very susceptible to any frequency about 30 hertz. Anyway, I have big news…

Would have bad hair day if I went here

…I’m getting married!

I know what you’re thinking: is she a Potter or a Sickling? I’ll get to that in a minute.

We met at a bleeding; myself in line with the other Reds, her a few feet to my right with the Blues. Small talk is common when you’re waiting to get sucked, but I’m not much of a talker so I normally keep to myself and count shards, or take the opportunity to lay out an array and charge my salt filter. My interest in her piqued when I caught sight of the blade she wore on her hip. The shape resembled something that would be adept at gutting the unusual curvature of an infant glass crab’s body. Since I’d been craving some of that sweet crab meat since The Churn, I attempted to strike up a conversation.

“Is that blade for gutting infant glass crabs?” I asked, assuming she spoke Plain but making a gesture with my hands that mimicked a glass crab’s first dance just in case.

Me trying to get crab meat “the old fashioned way” hahaha

I wasn’t sure if it was due to my ridiculous performance or the crystals I forgot to take out of my ears that morning but rather than answer she produced the blade, cut a swath of hair from her left temple, and handed it to me.

“You’ve been marked,” she said in perfect Plain.

I’d heard of this Sickling ritual from traders and poets across the Nine Plots, always assuming it was sex fiction for lonely travelers, up there with Tale of the Moist Herd or Jid’s Honkers. My familiarly with the tradition meant I knew my options: either succumb to the marking and become her eternal field boy or attempt to flee and risk having her hunt me, catch me, kill me, skin me, weave my skin into a diaper for the Prime King’s offspring, and have my meat and innards pulped into an ink to be used for their famous comic strips that satirize races they’ve eviscerated.

I didn’t feel much like running and I was getting kind of bored of trying to procreate through jinxing the hopping apes that lived nearby, so I accepted her mark and was quickly fused to her via a length of goblin vine.

We’ve been together for three floods now! She’s currently allowing me to roam while she gathers cones for the official marking ceremony, and as soon as I’m done typing I’m going to try to find a wedding ring before she re-fuses us for the skiff ride back to her hole. I figure it’s a nice gesture to include some of my own traditions before my independence, language, soul, fingernails, and body hair are stripped away from me as we begin our new life as Niff and Sickling.

Our first pic as a couple 🙂

Which ring should I get?

I could find a snake worm and knot it up but I’m afraid it won’t dry in time. My best option is probably try to steal a pike spring off a SandSki but I only see one at this bazaar and it seems to be guarded by a hybrid who can likely smell my thoughts. Ah well, I suppose I can figure that out later. I see my new darling crawling back this way and if she catches me doing this she might not let me sing my regrets to her pack once we get home, so that’s it for me!

– Mick R.

938482991.45893020049928FHEUFKDKKDF**********transaction_accepted
spire-net-40.309
Sent

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Today is the day to inhale the sweet acrid fog of the 4/20 flower and let it envelop every wrinkle of the brain that was created from the same soil as the weed that got you there in the first place — WE ARE ONE — forget that you have a memory but REMEMBER that you have forgotten the truth. This is your space. This is your Snak Pak.

Load Sequence

Look underneath the wig of the jester and you might just find the King. Perception is 9/10ths of the law unless you allow authority the freedom to play. PLAY is the motion of the unbound…

Begin this year’s exercise by removing the skin your mother gave you and that is your clothes because the Earth gave you your skin and your clothes are a myth created by forces long dead.

I. Overture

Attach a hose to your nose and put the other end in your ear. You will smell your ear and hear your nose for the first time…

Every ear contains Mother Sound, every nose Daughter Smell _-_-_-_ Are they related? You will know soon.

Data does not contain anything that the clouds can perceive until it can be translated by the wind

II. Awakening

Look at your feet through binocular, telescope or opera glass. Your feet and your eyes are of the same nation yet will never be allies so show them the potential of an impossible future. Are you dreaming yet?

III. Education (The Rift)

Every second is a lesson as long as you give time a hall to preach wisdom. Do not forget that in each molecule lies potential and that no spirit claims that a secret.

STOP. THINK. STOP THINKING.

Conservation IS preservation so why is one a ‘C’ and one a ‘P’? The gatekeepers know but their cages are made of your denials thus the key is in letting go of all your “whatevers”.

IV. The Movement

Sing the song of the dynamic God. Those who deny movement and speed do not understand the flux inherent in astral beings. When you stop you do not stop because GO is the only truth and you can’t GOD with GO…. If your mind has difficulty accepting do not fret as this is the script that leads to the film of UNDERSTANDING directed by YOU and produced by US with acting by Hollywood’s finest.

Will you come with me? The answer cannot be ‘yes’ and it cannot be ‘no’ unless ‘yes’. There are bigger riddles but they are beyond this realm. Chew, my friend.

V. SINK

The clock strikes 4/21 and you feel stuck in the jelly of yesterday. I have no solution, your battle is unique.

VI. Treats

Have you tried those new Starburst gummy sours? They’re not very good.

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Phantom Thread is a new movie that will go down in history as the last one ever to feature pretending by D-Day Lewis, one of the world’s most ferocious actors. Some say this guy can’t even take a piss without hitting “Track 2” on his iPod shuffle–a recording of Marty Scorcese screaming “I’m the director, gimme satisfaction; act really good once I yell, ‘Action!'”. This motherfucker doesn’t keep magazines next to his toilets, he keeps scripts and those cardboard DVD sleeves that people are so quick to throw out despite containing valuable information about the film within. The acting world will never be the same now that D-Day is hanging up his earrings fashioned after those acting masks where one is laughing and the other is nauseous.

Phantom Thread is a fairly boring story of a dress maker who is a total shithead. Because he makes good money making dresses for European princesses, nobody seems to mind that he’s an asshole. He meets this waitress who wouldn’t know Fendi from Wendy’s and tricks her into becoming his girlfriend/muse/worker/chef/seamstress/friend/fucker/assistant/model. All she gets in return is a season’s pass to hanging out with him and the odd dress that makes the rich women of London go, “SHIT!”.

I can’t talk about the rest too much because it would spoil the movie like post-raisin barf on fresh Flemish lace. There’s actually a cute clue hidden in that sentence that would make director Paul Thomas Anderson’s camera finger twitch the desire to flick my cheek for potentially ruining a paying customer’s experience.

The score (music that plays in the background to distract the audience from actors’ audible winking) was done by Radiohead’s resident bad boy provocateur, Jonny Greenwood. The trio of Greenwood, Anderson, and Lewis have combined for a scant ten lifetime smiles, and could probably lull Jimmy Fallon himself into suicide. Word has it, their favourite on-set joke was to brainstorm a new screwball comedy about blood disease starring John Larroquette.

There’s actually quite a lot of eating in this movie but its very limited to breakfast foods including at least three toast scenes. There are no explosions or cameos unless the woman who plays the Belgian princess was in Veronica Mars or something–I didn’t check. There is not ethnic diversity in this movie except there was an interview with the guy who plays Black Panther during pre-show entertainment with Tanner Zipchen, who has really grown into his role as film fluffer.

This movie is perfect for someone looking to distract their parents from grandma being in the hospital and I would give it seven D-Day Lewis stares in the mirror at himself until he remembers his real name and identity after a hard day of acting out of 10 Oscar voters who are scared to admit that they didn’t realize the woman who plays his assistant in the movie was also his sister.

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2017 clocked in at a full 12 months for the two thousand and seventeenth time since Jesus H. Christ died before he even got to get married. Unfortunately, the year was far from ideal but now that it’s 2018 we can once again strive to achieve the rare feat of a perfect year.

This was first achieved in 28 when the discovery of jars coupled with the advent of licking as foreplay, and the lowest snake count in recorded history led to utter perfection. The magic didn’t happen again until 1989 thanks in large part to a young Tom Hanks soothing the black hearts of ’88 by starring in both Turner & Hooch and The ‘Burbs.

Just because 2017 wasn’t perfect doesn’t mean we shouldn’t celebrate the achievements of the year’s top performing months. Here are four that stood out:

It was crisp, clean and lean at a very satisfying 30 days. One more day would make it look cocky, and a few less was make it seem as stupid as February. I celebrated my birth in April as I usually do but I’m not biased–April literally brought the heat by once again ushering in the freshness of a new season. The folks at SETI didn’t have anything to report but I’d wager that even if an alien invasion took place, it’d be hard to erase humanity’s wet April smiles (that led to dry May mouths).

What a beautiful grid! There’s nothing better than staring up at the stars on a hot July night with not one thought dedicated to the location of one’s earmuffs. Locally, the month got a boost thanks to Canada’s 15oth birthday, where the country’s most affluent citizens were able to spend hard earned gems on branded t-shirts and hats that will soon fill our nation’s thrift stores where serfs can purchase them for way below actual retail price.

An alien attack didn’t even cross my mind because any pre-scouting by a foreign species would show millions more bugs on Earth than usual, meaning they wouldn’t dare invade with so many extra soldiers in the zone armed with stingers and a taste for blood.

June is a pretty name for a woman, man, or gun, and it’s in the top four once again. Kids love June because it signals the end of another school year while adults love stripping last year’s grease off the grill, which can then be used as bait in yard traps. A good set of traps ensures safety in the event of an invasion, while a clean grill will give you and your family a tasty last meal before we’re all devoured or refined into a viscous fuel for warp engines.

No surprise here. August is consistently in the top four because it’s usually the warmest month of the year. This leads to stronger tubers come fall harvest which will feed us should we need to dig underground cities when a race of creatures from another planet take over our lithosphere but are nice enough to leave us the asthenosphere.

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Having been used for centuries an aphrodisiac, male fertility aid, and colic salve, the elixir Gatorade is synonymous with re-birth. Its mentions in the weekly logs of our fathers, grandfathers, and ultrafathers leads most to assume that Gatorade is as old as time itself, but how far back does it really go?

I’ve been a scholar of Gatorade ever since my father revealed to me on a warm June night out in the brambles of the carrot hedge that our bodies are 80% Gatorade. Over the years my studies have taken a backseat to making my own car out of stuff I find out behind the local tin shop, but my fascination remains. Here is what I’ve learned with the hope that a new generation of Liquidteers grab the baton and bring forth this knowledge into the unknown.

Who?

Gatorade is not male, female, animal or plant. Gatorade is a bottled wet water replacement that achieved ubiquity when allied soldiers sought an exotic taste experience pre-death.

Its creator is shrouded in mystery, not unlike life itself. But like life itself, we are fairly certain it was created by accident by a big guy. There is an Irish folktale that speaks of a dark Shadow distraught by unrequited love who took to the rainy streets of Cork crying tears of neon saline. The Shadow saw its reflection in a lonely puddle and was moved by its simple beauty. The Shadow’s tears dripped into the puddle and a new liquid was created that when sipped by passing street urchins, granted them the power to do 360 degree spins.

This rendering hangs in Ireland’s National Gallery and is said to have inspired a young Bono to start writing songs about sweat.

What?

Its viscosity is consistent across all bottles but its colour palette is not.

Its spectrum is otherworldly compared to ours–spend a lifetime in Birmingham then take a hydroplane to Cancun and perhaps you’ll understand. If its light were to be refracted through a prism it would look as if filtered through the lens of a Time Warrior’s goggles.

It can regenerate into an infinite amount of bottles.

There is likely blood in Gatorade.

An common impostor known as “Liar’s Gatorade”

Where?

Gatorade is available wherever bottled beverages are sold, in the cellar next to the preserves, naturally within blackberries that grow next to volcanoes, and in the locker rooms of the world’s top professional sports teams.

The grass will grow thorn-less when fertilized with Gatorade.

When?

I’ve already discussed everything I know about when the juice was thought to have been discovered so I’d like to instead cover when you should consume it.

Individual dosage used to be determined by the town quenchsmith, but the government’s standardizing of human wetness rendered their services obsolete. Technology has entered the fray as a reliable tool to decide when is best to throw back a tablespoon or two. My favourite device is the qThirst Tongue Band that sends real time data to your smart phone or tablet to give you an accurate picture of how arid your mouth and inner linings are.

Why?

From sauces to sparrows, and nuts to nuns, most things in life can be explained using Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. Its core tenet is that when something gets boring it will change into something better. The big problem is that the process takes time. Scientists estimate that the flora and fauna of ancient Africa decided water was boring 4 million years ago thanks to fossils that show clear poo faces from creatures who had but one option when it came to liquids. They were too dumb to suck trees but too smart to drink piss.

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Remembrance Day is the most literal holiday around next to Poland’s Throw Bread Day. It’s a bit misleading though because it wants us to remember only one thing, that being the big wars that were responsible for more skeletons than that first month after cavemen learned how to make swords.

After remembering how lucky I am to be living in a place with very little mud, I wanted to take this year’s Remembrance Day a step further by coming up with a hearty list things I’d like to accomplish before Remembrance Day 2018 arrives. By then my list will hopefully be littered with red check marks and fun little notes that say stuff like, “Great job on this one, dude.” Its successful completion should lessen the odds of me getting distracted again during the Remembrance Day parade, where I’m prone to wild fantasies about becoming a rogue-ish bagpiper who uses his instrument not only for dirges but as a bellows, a decent fake spider, and some sort of HD satellite.

I need to save money this year and to curb my addiction to “retail therapy” I finally want to sneak some fountain water out of the mall. I’ll then have the final ingredient in “mall tea” which is made by steeping soft pretzel in boiling fountain water. The scent will trick my brain into believing I’m in the mall, satiating my hunger for shopping when really I’m at home choking down the tea.

I’d like to get connect with my dad on an emotional level so I’ll finally have that talk with him to find out if my face and body is exactly the form he fantasized about when he found out his wife was pregnant with me.

I want to remember to try to meet my idols so hopefully I can track down one of those wonderful Stranger Things kids and talk them out of getting a tattoo that commemorates their time on Stranger Things.

Having fun is important so I gotta get around to pranking a friend by giving them a nickname, getting it to stick, then buying myself a vanity licence plate with that nickname stamped on. On the surface it will seem like I’m being a jerk but really I just want to give my friends something to talk about for once other than who got Chopped last night.

If I’m going to help out my friends I’d like to achieve balance by nailing my enemies. I’m definitely going to sew a pouch into every shirt I own to remind myself to fulfil last year’s mission of taking an extra square of toilet paper from every public washroom I visit to use as Christmas wrapping paper for the presents of my foes.

I need to take some time out for creative projects. It’ll take a lot of work but I’d like to find a fascinating story of true crime to make a podcast out of. When the first, critically acclaimed season is complete, I’ll meticulously take out snippets of my own voice and use them as samples on my new record–a lighthearted hip hop album about how to have fun living in Canada in your 30s.

Finally, I want to get into investing. My plan is to gather enough common beans that they are no longer common because I own most of them. Then I will sell them back to big beaners for a big payday, or retain them and be a Bean Lord for a bit.

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Dreams are little movies your brain makes while you’re asleep–they’re always rated R, they always star you, and their budgets are always at least $200,000,000 so you don’t even have to worry about that.

Scientists say we dream because we all love movies, while philosophers believe that there is a screenplay in all of us just waiting to get out to the silver screen. The ones who are able to get them onto the page and into the hands of Hollywood’s power players achieve a level of enlightenment akin to that of the farmer realizing his own dung is the ideal fertilizer for figs.

Dreams remind us we’re alive when we’re pretending to be dead.

A small portion of the population, and every single eel, is able to control their dreams in an act known as “lucid dreaming”. It’s really useful if you don’t like being alive and are frustrated you can’t fly or roll around in fields of butter.

The bad news is that humans can’t breathe underwater, but the good news is that lucid dreaming can be learned. Here are some tips I copied off the hand of some guy I saw sleeping on the subway who would periodically wake to check his notes, only to go back to sleep. I knew it was working because he kept licking his lips.

Preparation:

The day you decide to begin your training, chew gum with your eyes. You’ll need to wear shades all day so that people don’t think you’re blinking Morse code at them. I once got hit on by a dude who thought I was blinking him a secret recipe for Fruit Roll-Ups that didn’t even require a food dehydrator.

By doing this your eyes will be so mad at you at the end of the day that they will close and refuse to let you see anything. Since blindness is required for a good night’s sleep, it works out quite well.

Before you even begin to think about meltin’ into your mattress, tape a sign on the ceiling above your bed that reads, “Get back in there!”

Here’s the most important part: Before bed, take a rat and dangle it over the toilet. Concentrate and remember the rat’s reaction–hold onto the feeling you have while watching it squirm. Keep the rat in a cage next to your bed. If you suddenly wake up during a lucid dream and can’t tell if you’re still dreaming or not, try to use your dream powers to explode the rat or to turn it into a stack of pancakes, whatever you want. If it doesn’t work then chances are you’re back to real life. But just to be sure, take the rat out and dangle it over the toilet and if the feelings match those from earlier, you’re awake.

Execution:

Follow your preparation routine for at least a week until you dream consistently, or until you’ve got so good at eye chewing that your eyes can blow bubbles that form gum sunglasses. Keep a journal of your dreams and have a professional illustrate them–give the collection a zippy title and distribute via mail order or zine fair.

The first thing you’ll want to do when you finally realize you have control of your dream is summon a doctor to give you a new nose and stuff like that. But don’t even bother because it’s easier to turn yourself into a doctor and then do it yourself. Besides, you have learning to do.

Conjure up a school and enrol yourself in Advanced Lucid Dreaming. Don’t take short cuts. You’ll need to attend your school for a total of 24 semesters where you’ll learn everything you need to know to be a reliable lucid dreamer. You can have some fun though. Give your school any name you want. Mine is called “St. Poison’s School for the Fuckers”. You don’t even have to sit at a desk or anything, go ahead and made a throne or a couch, I don’t care.

The most important thing to remember while you toil away at school is that if you find yourself being taught be a real teacher from your past, immediately kill that teacher. This is your way of telling your brain to unlearn everything and start learning to take control of dreams.

Cool Down:

It’s very easy to get addicted to lucid dreaming. During your waking hours you’ll have to remind yourself that real life ain’t that bad, otherwise you’ll spend your day trying to snooze. It’s not that difficult. Have sex with something once a day and go the buffet whenever possible.

If you’ve already read this post and have successfully become a lucid dreamer then maybe you’re dreaming right now. And maybe you’re me, sitting at a desk and typing at a keyboard while straining the brain for tips on how to lucid dream knowing full well that the information is dangerous if it were to fall into the wrong hands….